


The Bark and the Bite

by YouRunWithTheWolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Frottage, M/M, Magical Accidents, Sharing a Bed, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouRunWithTheWolves/pseuds/YouRunWithTheWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is my wolf,” Scott says flatly, pointing at the animal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bark and the Bite

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wrote that really quickly because I was bored, so don't expect uh... QUALITY writing. I always thought it was a bit weird to refer to the characters' werewolfy condition (in fic) by talking about their "inner wolf" or just plain "wolf", like they're animals in man suits, so this is my take on it?  
> It was supposed to be quite short, but I'm putting it in the Drabble collection cause it's a bit silly really, and not a real fic? Idk guys.

“Something happened,” Scott says, voice tiny and muffled through the closed door. “I can’t let you in.”

“I promise not to laugh. Whatever it is, buddy, just let me in. I’m freaking out,” Stiles replies, dancing from one foot to another in the hallway. He hates being left out, he _hates_ it.

“I’m freaking out more.”

“One more reason to just let me in. Is it a sex thing?”

There is a pause.

“What?” Scott explodes, outraged. “What the hell are you thinking about? No, it’s got nothing to do with sex, Stiles. _God._ ”

Stiles shows the palm of his hands to the door in a defensive gesture, even though Scott’s not here to see it. “I’m just saying man. You locked yourself in your room and you don’t wanna come out or let me in, or let me call for help. I’m guessing it’s embarrassing. I should know -- remember that time when I --”

“Please stop right there. We agreed. No talking about it.” Scott sighs, and Stiles can hear him walk to the door.

A wave of anticipation hits him when he hears the little click of the door unlocking. Stiles has never been known to quietly wait for things to happen; the moment he can come in, he pushes hard on the wooden door impatiently and stumbles in Scott’s bedroom clumsily. He trips and rights himself at the last second thanks to the conveniently placed bed.

Scott’s bed, which is currently occupied by a very large wolf.

“Arghgah!” Stiles jerks backwards reflexively, trying to put as much distance possible between him and the beast. The wolf blinks a little sleepily but doesn’t otherwise move.

“This is my wolf,” Scott says flatly, pointing at the animal.

“ _What?_ Did Deaton give it to you? Man, you can’t bring work at home like this! What do you mean it’s _your_ wolf? Did you find it in the forest? There are no wolves in California. Did you steal it, oh my God. Is it going to eat me? Why is it on your bed? What --”

“Stiles, please,” Scott interrupts calmly, going as far as to sit on the edge of the bed, fearless of the giant predator behind him.

Stiles clamps his mouth shut, breathes in deep and waits.

“This is my wolf,” Scott repeats. “Literally.”

“ _This is your wolf_ ,” he echoes blankly, trying to make sense of the words without freaking out again.

“Yeah. He’s really badass, don’t you think?”

“He’s on your bed,” Stiles replies, because he feels like it’s something that should be noticed, said out loud and discussed extensively.

“Well, it’s kind of his bed too.”

“Oh.”

Scott runs a hand through the wolf’s fur. The thing doesn’t care one way or another and yawns widely, showing his pointy teeth. “Wanna touch it?”

“I am hyperactive, not _insane_ , Scott.”

“He won’t do anything to you, I swear. Do you trust me?”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well then. Pet him.”

Stiles takes a cautious step toward the furry mountain and when it doesn’t look like he’s about to attack, Stiles lifts a shaky hand above his head. Suddenly, the wolf perks up and bumps the top of his muzzle on Stiles’s outstretched palm. Stiles freezes before returning the pat on his head. He starts to brush his fingers through his thick brown -- almost red -- fur. He’s pretty soft. The wolf closes his eyes and starts panting like an overgrown dog, yipping and licking at Stiles’s hand everytime he stops the petting.

“That feels really good,” Scott says.

Stiles whips around to see Scott sprawled on his chair, eyes closed and a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “I understand why dogs are so needy, I mean, the scratching is awesome.”

Stiles ceases all petting activities and gapes. Scott opens his eyes, a little put out, looking at him with a betrayed expression. “Why’d you stop?”

“You mean to tell me,” Stiles says very slowly, “that you can feel everything he feels? That you are _connected_?”

“Yes! I thought you got it the first time. He’s my wolf. I told you.”

“You mean you’re him.”

“Well, he’s me, rather.”

“Same fucking thing! Your _wolf_! Like, actually a wolf! You’re him and he’s you and why the fuck is he here? Did he just sprout out of your chest or what? Does this mean you’re not a werewolf anymore? You’re _literally_ a were and a wolf, now. You should be freaking out, I’m freaking out, okay?” Stiles exclaims, a little hysterical.

“I was freaking out before if you recall! But the scratching is really soothing, dude.”

“I’m not petting you anymore.”

Scott looks sad. Whatever.

***

When they head out to Deaton’s clinic, they find Derek and Isaac on the parking lot. Scott’s wolf is in the backseat of the Jeep, extremely well-behaved and quiet. He listens to Scott as easily as he does to Stiles. When the three of them get out of the car, Isaac’s face is a confusing mix of relief and disappointment. Derek’s face is like a dark, threatening sky.

“Scott’s wolf’s side just materialized into an actual, honest-to-God -- doggy,” Stiles says when they finally reach the other two.

“Yeah,” Isaac says faintly, eying Scott’s wolf interestedly.

“Why do I feel you’ve got the same problem?” Scott asks, just as his wolf circles them, rubbing his huge face on Isaac’s leg and hip, before smelling Derek’s hand suspiciously and giving it a tentative lick. Derek lets him, but doesn’t acknowledge the wolf either.

Stiles is fascinated. And he’s got one idea in mind. “So where are yours? Your wolves? Can I see them?”

“Inside, with Deaton,” Isaac replies, crouching down to scratch Scott’s wolf behind the ears. Derek is still standing there stiffly, saying nothing, observing the proceedings grumpily. “He said to wait here.”

Scott sighs contentedly next to Stiles. “Dude, you might want to tone it down with the touching,” Stiles warns Isaac. “Scott’s totally enjoying that like a creeper.”

That earns him a punch in the shoulder from said creeper. Isaac stands up quickly, burying his hands in his pockets. “What? What do you--? How --?”

“The wolf is a part of him. Part of us. They’re connected,” Derek finally speaks, and it sounds like he just announced the world is coming to an end.

“Well I guess Deaton has a sense of boundary then, cause I’m not feeling anything from him,” Isaac says frowning, glancing at the clinic. “I can hear him though, as if he were right there.”

“Well, you _are_ in the room with Deaton right now, in a way,” Derek says, just as the vet comes out of the building, with two wolves on his heels.

One of them is massive. A little smaller than Scott’s, though. It looks tough and intimidating because of the dark greyish color, almost black, and the thunderous expression on its face. It also has striking blue eyes. The other has a lighter-colored fur, and it’s rather skinny. It trots immediately to sit by Scott’s wolf. There is absolutely no doubt as to which one is who.

“Aw, Derek, your wolf looks just like his daddy,” Stiles fake-croons.

The blackish wolf snarls menacingly, showing its teeth. Scott’s wolf barks once; a warning. Derek Junior backs down mulishly. Stiles and Isaac are a little taken aback, they exchange a wary look.

“So?” Derek asks Deaton, ignoring royally both humans and animals alike. “What happened? What do we do?”

“I don’t know what happened. It’s been said that it is possible for shapeshifters to have their animal side manifest physically, but those are legends. It doesn’t present any danger to you, though, I can assure you. My best guess is that we wait until it wears off.”

“And you yell at me when I say that we should ignore a problem until it just goes away!” Stiles cries, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. “Sure, when the vet says it, it’s legitimate.”

Derek sighs long-sufferingly and rolls his eyes. Scott just looks conflicted while Isaac keeps petting the three wolves one by one, apparently uncaring of what it entails to for their human counterparts. Stiles is a little impressed with the way he just presses his face in the fur of Derek’s wolf. Derek doesn’t say or do anything about it, and that’s probably the weirdest thing about it all.

“Can they be controlled?” Isaac asks worryingly.

“If you’re at peace with yourself, then yes. They should obey. Like when your brain orders your body to get up in the morning. You can either choose to ignore it -- or not,” Deaton says with a smirk.

***

When they all get back to the loft, another wolf is waiting for them on the couch. Boyd has his head pillowed on its belly and he’s watching TV like no big deal. The animal is pretty much the same color as Derek’s, but its face is way less scary, and its eyes are yellow. “Hey guys,” Erica calls from upstairs, elbows propped up on the railing. “What d’you think of my monster? Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Your wolf is a dude?” Stiles asks.

“Boyd is using your wolf as a pillow,” Isaac says.

“He’s cute,” Scott concedes.

Derek looks about ready to claw his own face off. He scowls at Stiles. “Sex and gender don’t matter. It’s random.”

“I was just wondering, jeez.”

“How do you know if it’s a girl or a boy, anyway?” Isaac asks.

Scott rolls his eyes, and eyes the wolves in a professional way. “It's pretty obvious, I think. Yours is a boy, mine and Erica’s too. Derek’s is a lady. I don’t see Boyd’s anywhere?”

“Mine is upstairs with Erica. She’s sleeping on her bed,” Boyd supplies calmly, eyes not leaving the tv screen.

Erica comes down the stairs excitedly, and Derek’s wolf immediately starts pacing, circling the tiny crowd. Derek just crosses his arms. Scott Junior smells Erica and lets himself be petted for a second, before scampering back to keep Derek’s wolf some company.

“So are they like real animals? Do we need to feed them?” Erica asks.

Derek shakes his head and crosses his arms. “No, they don’t belong to our world. They’re on a spiritual plan.”

Stiles snorts. “You sound worse than Deaton. And he says some serious shit.”

“Fuck off.”

Lady Wolfy Derek huffs, makes her way between the humans’ legs, Scott on her heels, and pointedly sits on Stiles’s feet. Stiles stares at the fluffy scary thing and feels the warmth spread through his feet. Body heat is fun.

“I feel like you’re not ' _at peace with yourself_ '," Isaac says, straight-faced, shaking his head in fake-disappointment. "Your face is screaming murder, but your wolf is begging for cuddles.” 

Erica snickers. Boyd continues to watch TV. Scott looks at Derek, then Stiles, then Derek, then Stiles. Derek’s expression is hilarious. Stiles wiggles his toes in his shoes. “Can you feel that?”

Derek groans and stomps his way up the stairs, muttering about how fucking stupid his stupid fucking life is. Lady Wolfy Derek doesn’t move to follow him.

Erica scoffs, dropping on the couch next to Boyd. “Pet me,” she says, poking him in the arm.

Boyd relents, shifting so Erica’s wolf can drop his head on his lap. He starts scratching behind his ears and Erica hums satisfyingly.

“I feel weird watching this,” Stiles says, unable to dislodge the giant wolf on top of his feet.

“I feel jealous,” Scott sighs. “Allison would have scratched my belly.”

“That’s gross, I don’t want to hear anymore of this!”

“I’ll scratch your belly if you scratch mine,” Isaac says, shrugging.

“I’m leaving!” Stiles screams, panicking, kicking gently at the wolf on his feet so he can actually do what he says.

Lady Wolfy Derek rumbles and reluctantly shifts away from him.

***

“Oh, dude. _No_. No, no, no.”

Lady Wolfy Derek looks at him primly, sitting stiffly just under the window. She snarls soundlessly, a gentle reminder not to come too close.

“I don’t even know how you got up here. Where’s Derek?”

The wolf doesn’t answer because it’s a wolf.

“Well, you seem okay, so I’m guessing he’s fine. You look really grumpy too, so basically, everything’s normal here. Except you’re in my room.”

Lady Wolfy Derek walks to him, huffing and -- and oh my God, she’s really big. She hops on the bed and waits. “I don’t know what you want,” Stiles says, bewildered. But she’s already closing her eyes, silently telling him to shut the hell up.

Stiles ends up sitting at his desk, dicking around online until two in the morning. He forgets about the wolf half an hour after she falls asleep, so it’s a surprise to see she’s still on his bed when he turns his chair around. He yawns, and just as he stretches, Derek comes in through the open window, looking more pissed than ever. He looks at his wolf and sighs -- like he just found his kid covered in mud for the nth time.

“Sooooo, what are you doing here? And when I say you, I mean _you_.” Stiles points at the wolf and Derek back and forth. “You both.”

“I don’t know, I thought she would come back. But it’s past midnight and she’s still...” His sentence trails off into nothing as he gestures helplessly at the sleeping form on Stiles’s bed.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be alone,” Stiles says with a shrug. Derek sends him a nasty look, as if Stiles has just said a really bad word. “Okay, well. It’s been fun. Can you take her back now?”

Derek makes a vague movement, trying to get the wolf’s attention, but she sighs noisily and gets up on her front legs, making them both believe she’ll actually listen to Derek, before dropping back heavily and gracelessly on the bed, turning the other way. If it’s not the best “ _fuck off_ ” Stiles has ever witnessed, then he’ll eat his metaphorical hat.

Stiles watches her back rise and fall. She’s making him real sleepy and he wants to scream in frustration. Instead he turns to Derek and hisses, “Well do something! Scott’s wolf does everything he tells him to. She’s _you_ , for fuck’s sake!”

“Well I’m not Scott, now, am I?” Derek spits back, equally as annoyed. “Perfect little Scott with his perfect little wolf and perfect little Stiles.”

A growl coming from the bed makes both of them jump and Stiles realizes how close they have gotten. He has no idea if the growl was a manifestation of Derek’s irritation or if she just wanted to defuse the tension. Either way, Derek takes a step back. “We’re going,” he says in a harsh tone that leaves no room for discussion. Lady Wolfy Derek jumps down from the mattress.

Derek decides they’ll use the door this time, stomping away in the hallway and going down the stairs like a pack of elephants. Lady Wolfy Derek follows him at a very slow pace, taking her time to rub her face and whole body against Stiles’s legs before leaving. Stiles tries really hard not to actively touch her, throwing his hands up above his head so he can’t be tempted. Something tells him Derek would not take kindly to him rubbing her belly. Cause it’s ultimately his belly too and fuck -- that’s kind of messed up.

***

“So, this is a problem,” Stiles says the next day, when he finds Derek’s wolf on his bed.

He ignores her again, but this time Derek doesn’t come to pick her up. Stiles is exhausted and there’s no way he can crawl in his bed without accidentally cuddling the giant fluffy wolf. She looks scary, powerful and _damn it_ \-- kind of cool too. She has that permanent scowl going on and judgey blue eyes.

“Derek. I know you can hear me cause your wolf’s right here. It’s like an advanced walkie talkie device, it’s very impressive. Anyway. She’s on my bed. I need my bed for sleeping purposes. Make her leave.”

He receives a text a few seconds later from an unknown number.

**_Just push her off the bed._ **

“Are you kidding, she looks like she can chew through concrete! I’m not pushing her off the fucking bed, Derek!” he exclaims, arms windmilling through air.

_**She won’t.** _

“Tell my dad I love him. Tell Scott to delete my internet history and clean all my folders.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply and climbs next to Lady Wolf on the bed, trying to shoo her away first. She only shuffles closer. Her eyes are closed and she looks really comfortable and Stiles doesn’t have the heart to disturb her. She doesn’t look aggressive either, so he takes off his shoes and his shirt, lies down as far away from her as possible, and nearly falls on the floor three times. He’s right on the edge of the mattress and there’s no way he can fall asleep like that.

“Derek, I’m warning you. Either you come and get your stupid furry self, or I’ll cuddle you. You hear me? _I’ll cuddle the ever loving crap out of you_! She looks real soft and warm and she’s sleeping on my covers, so I can’t get under them. This is your last chance.”

Stiles waits for the text but it never comes. “Fuck it, and fuck you, Derek,” he grumbles, shuffling closer to the sleeping wolf. He buries his face in her fur and tucks his legs between their two bodies. She curls her huge form around him slowly and rests her muzzle on the top of his head. Stiles can hear her heart beating and the deep breathing echoing in her chest. He nuzzles his face deeper in her fur, she doesn’t smell like anything; she’s soft and warm and the low rumble coming from her makes his bones vibrate and lulls him to sleep.

***

Scott is shaking him. “Dude, they’re gone!”

“Huh?”

“The wolves!”

He sleepily twists in his bed and the other half is empty. “Oh. Is that bad?”

“Uh, no. It’s just -- they went back to being -- us. Deaton was right. It just went away.”

Stiles sits up and rubs his eyes. “Derek must be ecstatic.”

“Erica cried all morning, she misses them already. They were kinda badass, I have to admit. Lydia and Allison didn’t even get to see them...”

Stiles says nothing, but he’s feeling weirdly abandoned too.

“So? Everything’s back to normal. Say hi to your wolf for me, I guess,” he finally says after a beat of silence, patting Scott’s chest. “He looked like a wise old dude.”

Scott blushes and laughs nervously. “Don’t be ridiculous, he was normal looking. I’ll miss the petting though.”

“You can ask Isaac, I’m sure he’ll be game.”

More blushing. “Shut up.”

***

“Derek, goddammit!” Stiles flails and trips over himself when he finds him sitting on his living room couch like no big deal. “What on earth are you doing here? No, scratch that, what are you doing, _period_.”

Derek just stares at him like he doesn’t know who he is.

“You okay? Scott told me the wolves just went back to their spiritual homes or something.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, finally looking away.

“You miss Lady Wolfy Derek?”

“Lady Wolf -- _what?_ ” Derek looks appalled. He shakes his head immediately, not giving Stiles any time to reply. “That’s what you’ve been _calling_ her.” He makes it sound like statement, not a question, looking at the ceiling exasperatedly. “I don’t miss anything, she’s -- it’s always there. It’s always been there. It just so happened that they were physically here, as wolves, for a few days. Either way, nothing disappeared, even if you can’t see it anymore.”

“Okay. That’s fascinating. Any reason why you’re here?” Stiles says, squinting his eyes, cranking the sass level up a notch. He knows he’s being a dick here, cause Derek looks harmless and unthreatening for once, but he doesn’t know how to communicate with him in another way yet.

Now Derek just looks lost. “Uh, no.”

Stiles frowns, confused. “No?”

“No.”

“But you’re on my couch.”

“Yes.”

“But why -- is my question. _Why_ are you on my couch?”

Derek shrugs, gets up, scratches his head. “I don’t even know why ‘the wolf’--” Stiles can hear the quotation marks, “--was here in the first place. Just trying to understand what was so damn irresistible that she had to come here. Twice.”

“Maybe I’m irresistible,” Stiles says jokingly, because Derek is being weirdly serious.

“You said she didn’t want to be alone,” Derek mumbles, ignoring his quip.

Stiles stuffs his hands in his pockets. Okay, _fine_. Serious it is, then. Damn it.

“I was just trying to annoy you,” he says honestly.

“It worked. Doesn’t mean you weren’t right.”

Stiles can feel his eyebrows go up on his forehead. Talk about a backhanded compliment. “So are you?” he asks, fumbling with his words and making up for it with some jerky hand movements. “Alone, I mean. Are you?”

Derek doesn’t reply. His eyes are trained on his shoes, and Stiles has never seen him so vulnerable in his life. He feels bad for witnessing this moment. He almost suggests Derek should stay here and he’ll go away when he realizes how stupid and ludicrous that sounds. It’s _his_ house. Derek came here for a reason. Even if neither of them know the damn reason.

So he says, “I’ll make myself a sandwich. Want one?” Food solves everything.

Derek’s eyes snap up, and he stares at Stiles suspiciously, likely trying to see if he’s being serious. He must read something on Stiles’s face because he agrees. “Okay.”

“My dad’s not here, so you can sleep here if you want,” he tells Derek when they’re finished with their crappy sandwiches and Stiles doesn’t know how to spark up the conversation. “You already slept in my bed, technically. You were really comfy, just so you know.”

He only half-means it. He doesn’t actually believe Derek will agree to stay the night, like it’s a freaking sleepover.

“I don’t know if I’ll be _as_ comfy,” Derek says quietly, looking down at himself and his lack of fluffy-looking fur.

Stiles feels himself blush a little, and covers it with a flurry of complex hand movements. He clears his throat and looks away from Derek’s everything. “I’ll content myself with it.”

When Derek leaves the kitchen to go upstairs, most likely to Stiles’s room, Stiles just stares blankly at the empty chair he leaves behind. To say he’s surprised would be an understatement.

“Okay, we’re doing this,” he mutters to himself before following Derek.

He is already in his bed. Stiles tries to act like it’s no big deal, like it’s totally normal and okay, but it’s really not and his pulse speeds up. After all, he _did_ offer. That’d be a dick move to tell him he wasn’t being serious, now. He hopes Derek isn’t listening, isn’t interested enough to listen for his heartbeat.

Derek is lying on his back, shirtless, shoeless, in his boxers. Of course they’re black. Stiles undresses with jerky and clumsy movements, trying hard not to ogle the dude currently falling asleep on his covers. _You can do this_ , Stiles silently pep-talks himself. _Just like when you stay over at Scott’s_. He tugs on a pair of sweatpants and lies down next to Derek.

“So, this is really weird,” he can’t help but say, feeling how tense Derek is next to him, how tense he is himself.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Derek replies tonelessly. He sounds like he’s not really talking to Stiles.

“Well, you’re here now. And you’re almost naked. So, you might as well stay and sleep now.”

Derek makes a noncommittal sound, and Stiles arbitrarily decides it means “turn off the lights”. So he does. Stiles’s heart rate finally slows down when nothing particular happens. They lie quietly in the dark for a while. A long time passes and neither of them moves. Stiles thinks Derek fell asleep. He tries to reposition himself without making the mattress jump too much, because sleeping on his back is really uncomfortable, but he accidentally bumps Derek’s side with his elbow. He freezes, and Derek snorts.

“I’m awake, you idiot. Just pick a position.”

“Ooh, talk dirty to me,” Stiles whispers back without missing a beat, because he can’t let any sexual innuendo pass. He regrets it immediately though. His whole body flushes with embarrassment and he tries to make up for it by wriggling around as much as possible. Derek groans in frustration and slaps a hand on his bare chest to stop him from moving.

Stiles’s breathing gets shallower and he wills his whole being to calm the fuck down. Except Derek’s hand hasn’t moved away and his body is totally responding accordingly: it starts to heat up, making him sweat, as his pulse rockets up and his mouth dries.

“You’re making me nervous,” Derek grinds out, palm still flat on Stiles’s chest.

“Right back at you,” Stiles says with an unsteady voice that goes higher in the middle of his sentence. But he’s frozen in place now, he doesn’t dare make a move.

Derek’s hand slowly slides down against his side before leaving his body entirely. It leaves behind a trail of tingles and goosebumps on his skin. Stiles takes a huge breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and feels like a weight has been taken off his chest.

“Sleeping and cuddling with Lady Wolfy Derek was way more relaxing,” Stiles says.

“Sorry.”

Stiles half sits up, propped up on an elbow to look down at Derek in the dim light. “I didn’t mean -- Ugh, don’t make me be _nice_ to you. That wasn’t a criticism.”

“You’re letting me sleep in your bed for no reason whatsoever. You’re already being nice. And I only had to make puppy eyes at you.”

Stiles gapes at Derek's dark figure. “Just so you know, I’m making my offended and outraged face at you right now.”

Derek snorts. “I know.”

“Not but seriously, the puppy eyes were real right?”

Derek stays silent for a long time and then, he finally says, “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“What about your betas?”

“It’s not the same. I -- I just can’t see myself snuggling with Boyd, you know? He would give me the _look_.”

“Oh yeah, the look,” Stiles nods, perfectly picturing Boyd’s face in his mind.

“I don’t see myself asking any of my betas to share my bed, _period_.”

Stiles stifles a laugh when his brain conjures up the image of Derek in his bed, with Isaac, Boyd and Erica piled up on top of him while he tries to watch TV.

“You’re okay sharing with me though.”

“I already did, technically.” Stiles feels Derek shrug. “Said so yourself.”

“So how was that on your end, by the way? I didn’t speak in my sleep, did I?” Stiles asks, choosing to ignore his non-answer.

“You did. It didn’t make any goddamn sense. Something about teapots and socks, I don’t even know what’s going on inside your brain, seriously,” Derek grumbles, lying face up while Stiles curls up on his side to look at him, still holding the weight of his head in his hand, propped on an elbow. His eyes are getting used to the dark.

“Is that all?” he asks, voice quiet and weird.

“It kinda tickled,” Derek goes on. “You kept -- like, burrowing your face in my chest and -- your hands were -- everywhere.”

Stiles huffs a laugh and resists the urge to reach out and brush his finger against Derek’s skin. “You were really soft, alright? I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I did warn you. And you could have left.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t -- alright.”

Stiles doesn’t exactly know what to make of that. Maybe Derek just wants to share a bed, a bit of warmth and comfort. Maybe a little more. Stiles can’t be sure because he’s got the emotional range of a spoon sometimes and also he can’t see Derek’s face to match it up with his words.

“So,” he says in what he hopes is an offhanded tone, “your wolf doesn’t wanna cuddle right now?”

“My wolf, my wolf,” Derek mutters back, annoyed. “There’s just me, Stiles. I don’t have a wolf living inside of my body.”

“So, _you’re_ the wolf?” Stiles prompts, no really knowing where Derek is going.

“No, I’m a werewolf. Literally a man-wolf. Doesn’t mean the two are separate.”

Stiles shifts his eyes from side to side, confused. “Well, okay. Lady Wolfy Derek seemed pretty at odds with you though, for something -- someone? -- that should have been... uh... you.”

Derek shrugs again. “Never been at odds with yourself before?”

Stiles blinks, surprised. Of course he had. Still is, sometimes, when he sits down to eat breakfast with his dad and he vibrates with the need to say something, anything to let him know about what’s going on in Beacon Hills; but instead he sits there and battles with himself for the entirety of the time it takes his dad to drink his coffee. They end up chatting about stupid stuff and Stiles sighs in relief, hating himself a little more, when he leaves for the station.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I guess.” He plops back on the bed, way closer to Derek than when they first lied down. Their arms brush; it sends electricity up his spine, and a wave of something washes over him.

Silence stretches. Stiles can’t let anything go, because he needs to know things. And Derek is right there in his bed, and it’d be ridiculous not to ask. So he grabs Derek’s wrists suddenly -- he can feel the slight jump of surprise when he touches it -- and gives it a light squeeze.

“So you wanna cuddle or what? I was totally the little spoon last time, cause you were a giant fucking fluffy plush toy, so we can switch.”

Derek doesn’t move away from the touch. In fact, he doesn’t move at all. Stiles takes it as a small victory. He’s still alive and has all his limbs; this is going well. He rearranges himself on the bed slowly, giving Derek all the time in the world to shift away or say something. He doesn’t. So Stiles pushes at his shoulder until Derek gets the hint and rolls on his side, showing him his back. Stiles can see his tattoo even in the dark, and it sends another wave of that special something through his body.

Derek’s skin is soft and warm, like he’s been lying around in the sun all day. Stiles curls himself carefully around him, pillowing his head on his bent arm, snaking the other around Derek’s ribs and resting his hand on his sternum. Stiles can feel a bit of hair there. He swallows down any witty remark and tries to breathe normally. He keeps holding his breath accidentally and releases it in small puffs of air, making him dizzy. Derek burrows himself closer to him, his back pressed flush against Stiles’s front. They tangle their legs together and Derek ducks his chin toward his chest, curling up on himself even more.

It’s already way more than Stiles had expected, but Derek’s hand is just resting on the mattress, hanging limply over the one Stiles has around him. Stiles pats the bed until he finds his hand, covers it with his own, treading their fingers, and brings it back around Derek’s chest. This is the most intimate thing Stiles has ever done with anyone. And he's seen Scott naked, once.

Stiles feels warm and comfortable. He can hear the precise moment when Derek falls asleep. His breathing and pulse slow down, tension bleeds out of him and he goes lax against Stiles. It doesn’t take long for him either to close his eyes and to let himself be lulled to sleep by Derek’s deep breathe-in’s and breathe-out’s. It doesn’t feel much different than when the wolf was in Derek’s place.

***

He wakes up with his face mashed into something pretty hard. His brain is still trying to hang on to the last remnants of a dream about flower beds and milk, for some reason. It made sense two seconds ago but now, all he wants to do is stretch and also warm himself up. Why is he sleeping on top of the covers, half-naked?

He rubs his face of the hard surface; it’s pretty soft, in fact. And warm. Someone groans under him. It reverberates through his ribs and he flashes his eyes open.

His entire upper body is basically on top of Derek’s back, his right arm on top of Derek’s, their hands still clutched together. Everything rushes back to him. Derek is squirming under his weight, sighing sleepily into Stiles’s pillow.

“You ‘wake?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Hmph,” Derek replies, stretching as much as he can under Stiles.

Stiles disentangles his hand from Derek’s and heaves himself off, flopping on his back next to him. Derek is turning around on his back too, all heavy with sleep. Stiles is fascinated. It sort of breaks the Tall, Dark, and Handsome image Derek unconsciously cultivates. There’s nothing mysterious about a dude blinking blearily at you while yawning.

“You make a really good pillow,” Stiles says stupidly.

“I think you drooled on me.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Good pillow,” Stiles adds, refusing to let himself be embarrassed.

“You’re hard.”

Something cold and awful washes over his body. That must be what dread feels like. He looks down at his crotch and sure enough: morning wood. It’s kind of obvious and unmistakable.

“Oh.”

There’s not much more he can say, at that point. It’s not like he can deny it, or talk around it, or act like it’s totally normal. Even if it is normal. Derek broke the Guy Code and mentioned it instead of politely ignoring it.

Derek continues to say nothing, staring at the ceiling. “You can go take a shower, if you want,” Stiles ends up saying, offering him an out. All it does, unfortunately, is make him picture a naked Derek under a hot spray of water, surrounded by steam and --

That’s not helping his boner situation. His dick twitches. Crap.

“Are you gonna take care of that?” Derek asks, with a nod toward his crotch.

Stiles’s eyes bulge out of his skull. “Well. Yeah. Why -- are you _offering_?” He mostly means it as a barb so Derek will take offense and run out the door in disgust.

But he doesn’t.

“Sure,” he says. “If you want me to.”

Stiles’s whole body freezes. “Well do _you_ want to?” he asks, a little angrily because it sounds like Derek is teasing and that shit just ain’t funny.

“Sure.”

“‘Sure’ is such an awful reply.”

Derek finally moves. He rolls on his side, almost covering his chest and looks at him straight in the eyes. “I really wanna kiss you right now,” is what he says. It’s completely baffling to Stiles.

“Okay,” he mumbles, because he’s on board with that, body and mind.

Derek slides a knee and a thigh between his legs, pressing lightly on Stiles’s dick, before swallowing his answering moan. Stiles wants to care about morning breath, but -- boner plus make-out session equals teenage heaven. He’s pretty sure he’s dying when Derek sucks on his tongue, and then maybe he comes back to life when Derek inhales sharply when Stiles accidentally bites at his lip. He doesn’t want to last long -- couldn’t if he wanted. So he grinds up against Derek’s thigh mindlessly, clutching Derek’s arms. Derek kisses him harder, covers him a little more with his body weight and that’s it. He comes with a muffled shout, Derek holding his hip with one hand, and stroking the skin here. He doesn’t stop kissing him and Stiles can feel a smile tugging at his lips. He sighs blissfully between kisses, until Derek starts nipping playfully at his jaw and at his neck. The stubble tickles him. “That was awesome,” he sighs. Derek is still nuzzling at his neck, placing quick dry kisses here and there. It’s adorable.

“Is your wolf pleased?” Stiles snickers, breaking the comfortable silence. Derek groans before pulling away from him. “No, I’m serious! Is it -- is _she_ rumbling with satisfaction?”

“You’re such a moron.”


End file.
